


Plan B(eta)

by ushiwakamaru



Category: Musical Touken Ranbu: Kashuu Kiyomitsu Solo Live 2018, Touken Ranbu 2.5D RPF, Touken Ranbu Musical RPF
Genre: Aftercare what aftercare, Consensual Gangbang, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Open Relationships, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 06:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17017791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ushiwakamaru/pseuds/ushiwakamaru
Summary: The problem with doing a solo show -- and especially a solo show that takes him away from home -- is that Ryuji doesn't always have his pack around him.  Fortunately, his coworkers are extremely supportive and his Omega is usually willing to share.





	Plan B(eta)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shoujiki_Ippen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoujiki_Ippen/gifts).



The secret to any well-functioning pack lies in its rules. It's never anything as hardlined as law, of course, but any pack without boundaries, just like any relationship without boundaries, tends to fall apart at the seams fast.

In this case, Ryuji and Shunya have always played the rules between them fast and loose, and even moreso with the addition of Ryo and Daichi to their growing cloud of what Shunya privately likes to call consorts. (Ryuji's always thought the way Shunya considers himself the ruler of their little pack is narcissistic, even for him, but who else could it be? Not Ryo. Certainly not Daichi.) Shunya's got his needs, which is why Ryuji's never begrudged sharing with others. Ryuji's got his own needs, but Shunya's the possessive type.

Still, sometimes Shunya isn't there. Sometimes none of them are there. And Ryuji's needs don't go away just because he's on tour in one place and the rest of them are on tour somewhere else.

Ryuji: hey  
Shunya: shouldn't you be asleep?  
Ryuji: shouldn't you?  
Ryuji: can't sleep.  
Shunya: too hot?  
Ryuji: just restless i think. maybe.  
Shunya: could try going for a run  
Ryuji: i'm not daichi!  
Shunya: try something else then  
Shunya: just don't push yourself too hard okay?

This is one of the rules between the two of them, and only the two of them: Ryuji always asks for permission (in his own way). And Shunya always gives it (after a fashion).

There's a kit that comes with him every time he leaves home for a while. Just in case. Ryuji's no omega, but even so there's something that pulls at him sometimes. An awful tightness in his throat that he can't chase away without help. When they see the black silk pouch in his hands backstage, everyone knows what it means.

Ryuji wants – _needs_ – to be used.

The show goes well, though the strain of doing such a long performances so many nights running, not to mention the strain of travel, is starting to show on every face. Everyone is a little restless at this point which means nobody is going to deny Ryuji what he's practically demanding.

After the final curtain call there's the usual bustle; tonight is the last night in this location. The stagehands are busy packing up assorted equipment so it can be moved one last time; most of the rest of the staff are absorbed in their own preparations, going over notes and details for the next performance. And Ryuji is in his dressing room, on his knees with an unknown cock in his mouth.

In his defense, he can hardly be blamed for not knowing whose it is. There are six options, after all, and with a blindfold on and his wrists cuffed behind his back it's a little difficult to identify which dick is attached to whose body.

Ryuji's still in the dregs of his last costume of the night, sweat soaked and exhausted. Someone pulls the wig and cap off his head -- his natural hair sticks to the back of his neck – then there are hands buried in his hair, pushing him forward, forward, forcing him to take more of the cock in his mouth.

"Hey, easy," one of them says. "Didn't you say we should make a night of it?"

"Oh yeah."

The pressure on the back of his head disappears, but Ryuji doesn't withdraw. He relaxes further with a moan and is rewarded by an answering moan from above, by a hand from behind sliding inside his shirt. The hand wanders a little more than it really needs to in the process of disconnecting his mic (one of the stagehands complained last time) and by the time it vanishes and is replaced with another teasing at his nipples, he finally has to withdraw and lean back.

"Please," he gasps out. His clothes feel too tight.

A ripple of laughter travels through the room.

"Don't worry, we're getting there." Hands on either arm, helping him stand.

A different voice: "But you know they'll kill us if we get this costume dirty."

More hands. At least three of them work in tandem to undress him. From his side, it's hard to tell. They act with practiced ease, offering support in turns, helping him keep his balance through the complicated act of stripping down a blindfolded man. His wrists are uncuffed long enough to get his shirt off; he shivers at the touch of fingers on his calves when they slide his boots off, one after the other.

At last, it's just Ryuji in the center of the room, wearing nothing but a silk blindfold, soft leather cuffs, and the costume's choker around his neck.

"...Wow."

A murmur of agreement.

He can't resist preening a little internally. It does feel good to be admired.

Then come heavy hands on his shoulders, pushing him gently but insistently back down, down on his knees and then to lean forward. He almost loses his balance, but a hand steadies him. Another tips his chin up, running a thumb over his lower lip. He opens his mouth obediently when it presses forward and it slides over his tongue, tasting like salt.

"Here."

"Thanks – ah, that's cold! You didn't warm it?!"

"Isn't it the warming kind? It'll be fine."

The conversation behind him gets lost in other sensations. A hand in his hair, guiding him to a waiting cock. A hand on his chest, pinching his nipples until he tries to squirm away. A hand on his shoulders that won't let him. A hand on his thigh, so close to his dick but not touching it, digging bruises into flesh. He wishes they'd touch his cock, whining for it, but either they can't tell what he wants or they're ignoring him. Probably the latter. He can't say he hates it.

The cock in his mouth disappears and is quickly replaced by another. He jerks back with a yelp only moments later – the lube _is_ cold, even colder inside him than out. He wants to complain about it, but there are two people in front of him now, sensed more than seen.

"C'mon, Ryuji," one of them says. "It's not about you tonight, right?"

It is and it isn't, but he falls forward all the same and lets them guide him down, down, down, until his face is in someone's lap and his ass is in the air. Ryo's good at sucking cock, but Ryuji's good at _taking_ it, and he lets it fill his mouth, press against his throat, letting in everything he can until he's barely able to breathe, just squirming in place against the press of hands behind him. Squirming against the finally warming lube, too, the tingling, buzzing feel of it making him hyper aware of the pressure and stretch of someone finally – finally – pushing slowly inside him.

He's well and truly full now. Ryuji's eyelids flutter, eyelashes catching on the silk blindfold. Maybe he makes a sound, but he can't hear it over his own heartbeat thudding in his hears.

A hand tangles in his hair. Pulls him up and pushes him back down again. Whoever's inside him soon finds a rhythm to match. Ryuji goes lax between them, letting one fuck his mouth and the other fuck his ass until there's a telltale stutter in the pattern and his mouth fills with bitter salt. He tries to swallow, but he can't manage. When his partner withdraws, the cum sticks to his lips and catches on his chin. He barely has a chance to take a breath before he's being jostled and a new partner takes up position. Behind him, a startling emptiness and the shock of more cold lube being pressed between his cheeks before he's finally full again.

Time blurs after that, until everyone has had a turn (or two). Ryuji's breathless and probably red-faced. His jaw aches and his ass is unpleasantly sticky. And he's still half hard.

The blindfold stays on while the group takes time cleaning him up, but they take the cuffs off and let him drape himself over whoever happens to be closest at any given moment. Someone wipes his face clean and kisses his cheek. Someone else is cleaning up his back and thighs.

"Do you want to stay full?"

He thinks about it for a minute, then shakes his head no. Maybe if this was a performance close to home, but Ryuji doesn't really want to deal with a plug in a hotel room. Not this time. Maybe he can get Daichi to really fill him up once he's home again.

"Okay. Let's get this off, then."

Hands carefully pick loose the knot at the back of his head and the blindfold falls away. Ryuji blinks at the suddenly light, his vision a little blurry. His dancers stand around him in varying states of undress. A couple of them are still zipping up their flies. One by one, they say their goodbyes with a pat on the shoulder or an affectionate hair ruffle, until Ryuji's left alone to sink into the nearest chair.

Ryuji: hi  
Ryuji: finished the performance. we're heading back tomorrow.  
Shunya: yay! and now you can come home!  
Ryuji: there's still a few more performances don't get too excited  
Shunya: i'll get excited if i want  
Shunya: how are you feeling?  
Ryuji: pretty tired but okay  
Ryuji: the guys helped me out  
Shunya: i want pics!!!  
Ryuji: NO.  
Ryuji: i'm going to back to the hotel. goodnight.  
Shunya: ( ˘ ³˘)♥

Ryuji rolls his eyes at his phone and finally drags himself upright to look for his street clothes. The car will wait for him as long as he needs it to, but he'd like to get back as soon as he can. He'll sleep well – and he's looking forward to going home.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this entirely in Comic Sans and it's hands down the fastest I've ever written anything in my life, but god. At what cost.


End file.
